Warning.
The squirrel is deep in reflection today.
Pensively disturbed.
Thinking.
You see, we attended a memorial service yesterday for my husband’s cousin. David was only a year older than Dennis. His passing was sudden, unexpected until a month ago when he noticed some leg swelling. And the doctors diagnosed him with an untreatable and aggressive primary liver cancer.
Death has a way of toying with the living. Tossing and tumbling thoughts and emotions and memories.
We lingered at the cemetery in the late afternoon. Spent quiet time at the fresh dirt-covered, flower-sprayed grave and wandered among the other family headstones, and Dennis told me stories again of the people there. We visited his parents’ grave and noted where we will one day rest.
And we lay awake late last night talking.
About David and how he was in our wedding and about his life journey and how he also came back home to live near his widowed father and how we didn’t spend as much time together as we “should” have and how sad we were that we had never attended any of his plays. And how he and Dennis looked so much alike when they were kids that people got confused. And we remembered how he showed up unexpectedly in a really cool car to celebrate Jeremy’s graduation with us. And we talked about how our faith had been challenged because, you see, he left a partner of 36 years and was very gracious and caring and active in his church.
And we recalled how Aunt Betty’s death was a first for Abby (since she was only two when Dennis’ mom died) and how much that affected her when she was in fifth grade.
And we remembered times on Duck Lake. Aunt Betty and Uncle Kenneth owned a house there and eventually another aunt’s little yellow cottage next door. We talked about the fun we had when our family stayed in that cottage for a week and how Abby and I got “lost” on the lake while fishing in the dark and couldn’t make out the right dock. And how we played board games late into the night and laughed until we hurt.
And we remembered the last family reunion at the lake–the 100th one–and how Dennis’ mom wasn’t feeling well but refused to complain and how she rested more than usual in a chair. And how she and I went to the greenhouse to get gift plants, and she pointed out the funeral home that she said would handle her arrangements and how the other one in town would handle her husband’s because they wanted to “spread the business around.” And how we later realized how prophetic that was.
We took two days to drive back to Georgia and had no sooner walked in the door than the phone rang with the news that Mom was in the hospital and we needed to come right back. And she squeezed my hand at bedside, and two days later we sat around a conference table when the doctors discussed her prognosis. And everyone looked to me (as a nurse) and I said yes, remove the ventilator because the nurses had shown me her necrotic abdomen. And they did it so quickly that nobody was with her to say good-bye, and I always wondered had I been more observant and made her go to the doctor if she could have been treated.
And she never completed the grandmother’s memory book for our children.
And then that made me think of Dennis’ dad and how hard his last years were in the nursing home for him and how hard it was on Dennis, and I wondered had I recognized his stroke symptoms sooner if his complications could have been avoided.
And he died without completing his grandfather’s memory book, but Uncle Kenneth (his brother, Dennis’ uncle and funeral home boss, David’s dad) did it in his stead.
And we laughed because his sister who wants to be cremated said you can make diamonds from ashes and that one day we might own a Dianne diamond
And then we talked about our life and how we met and how I didn’t believe he would have given me a second look if Susan hadn’t forced him to (though he disagrees.) And how we will have been married 39 years in December and good memories and rough times and places we’ve lived and how the time seems to have gone by so fast. And how Dennis is now the oldest male King left and how Jeremy (unless he changes his mind about children and has a son) will be the last and how he isn’t really “blood” since we adopted him but how he is as much a King as John who came from New York to establish the farm here in the early 1800s.
And we talked about how brief life is and how important it is to live it well and we talked about caring for each other in the years we have left and what our children will remember about us and about simplifying life and how we need to be sure to make and preserve more memories.
That life births death, and death births life. And change comes and we go on. With gratitude and without regrets.
Death is like that. It stirs memories of life lived and a coming to terms with choices and letting go and an urgency to reevaluate priorities and live well the life that’s left.
And we slept in peace. With this tune, the last song played yesterday, running through our heads.
Linking up today with Duane Scott’s Pleasantly Disturbed Thursday.
Most people never get monuments built for them, or have history books tout their great deeds with pride. It is by sharing memories of them that they live on for future generations. Feel free to be pensive and share the memories once in a while. It is their monument.
Helen, that is a beautiful thought! Building monuments of memories.
I love your thought Helen.
Tears are falling and do not seem to want to stop.
It is good to stop and reflect, rejoice and weep and yet praise our God.
It is never to soon to know that we know Him.
That just reminded me of Praise You in This Storm by Casting Crowns.
Yes, it’s never to soon to know that you know because you never know.
this is a beautiful post.
love the iz song too.
Thanks. 🙂
I love this post….I recently posted on memories and how important they are. My Mom always says that leaving a good legacy is the most important thing you can do, and we can all do that. One of kindness, compassion and love. This post reminded me of that, thank you. Lori
Thank you for visiting, Lori. I will come visit you and find that post.
In death, we see life, we appreciate it, and those in it. Thanks for this moving tribute.
Thanks, Mansi.
I want to live my life in such a way that I’ll have no regrets when a loved one leaves this life. No: I should have sent them flowers, called more often, expressed my love, given more hugs, spent more time.
My husband and I had the opportunity to do all those things before he died. Not everyone gets that chance.
Sandra, don’t beat yourself up. When you’re thinking about their symptoms and you should have gotten them help sooner, that is a part of the grief process. You did your best at the time it occurred.
Blessings,
Susan
I’m so glad you had that time with your husband, Susan. My heart still aches for you. And thank you.
Hey there! I have “seen” you alot today (and often in my travels in blogland) and so happy that I stopped by your place tonight.
How timely, as we just attended a service for our friend’s son. He was 22 years young. His life snuffed out from him. There was not a dry eye.
God knew this was the day written in His book for Michael…but no-one else did. There is no doubt that many people will be doing alot of soul-searching and also “reevaluate priorities and live well the life that’s left.”
thank you for this beautiful post.
Nice to “meet” you, Michelle! I’m so happy you came by.
I’m sad for your friends. 🙁
This was such a wonderful surprise. I’m sorry for the passing of a loved one.
It truly is in death that we see life.
You have such a good heart.
Take care, you Kings.
Kinda different today. I’ll be wild and crazy again next week.
You have a good heart, too. 🙂
Wonderful post. First it hit me that I have a grandmother’s that is still empty and only yesterday I read about the ashes turning into diamonds and I was so shocked.Death makes us think about all our memories and how what if this and what if that? But then I need to console myself that each day I have that opportunity to do a what if and I do some days and some days I don’t and maybe that is the way life is. I’m so so sorry for your loss.
Maybe it takes a trip through the “what ifs” to come to affirm the “what is” and the “what could be’s.”
Each day is new!
Thanks for being so transparent with your thoughts and memories. The more we love, the more it hurts to say goodbye, but like I tell my kids, it’s totally worth it.
Totally worth it. Yes. And somehow, I think, in the brokenness, there’s more capacity to love.
That life births death, and death births life.
This one single line moved me. Thank you.
Thank you, Michael.
Just loved this so much, Sandy. Thanks for sharing part of your story with us.
Thanks, Kathy. I think it’s interesting that God seems to be speaking to so many of us in similar ways.
What I so loved in reading this was the progression. One thought to the next and never once saying “think about something else.” You followed the thoughts, let yourself have them, honored those about whom you were thinking.
My threshold is low; I move quickly to the next thing. I intentionally miss what that feels like to stay with it a little longer. I’m learning this, working to feel. And this helps me with that.
For your loss, and your family’s loss, I’m sorry. His sweet comfort to you all in the grieving.
Lyla, I just read your post. You feel well. Oh, my!
Earlier today Billy Coffey tweeted a video of kids being reunited with their military dads who were home on leave from Iraq. Watching the kids break down crying was watching a release of everything they’d been holding for months and months.
That’s how I feel about Heaven and the reunion there with the Lord and all our loved ones who are His. The song “I Can Only Imagine” talks about all the different reactions one might have when they finally see Jesus. I can only imagine tears—swollen rivers of tears—that He’ll wipe away for good.
But I do not want you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning those who have fallen asleep, lest you sorrow as others who have no hope. For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so God will bring with Him those who sleep in Jesus. (1 Thessalonians 4:13-14)
Life is so uncertain and loved ones can be gone at anytime. It’s so hard when it’s sudden and unexpected. The good thing is when it causes us to appreciate life and each other more. Thanks for sharing your lovely post.
I remember this… 🙂